The cavern's air thickened with every step, pressing against Elena's lungs like a suffocating shroud. The walls, slick with moisture, glistened faintly under the flickering light of Adrian's torch. Shadows danced wildly, stretching and contorting as if alive, and the faint hum of ancient magic buzzed in Elena's ears—a sound she'd come to associate with places steeped in forgotten power.
Her mother—*her mother*—stood at the center of it all, bathed in an ethereal glow that seemed to defy the oppressive darkness. The woman's face was a mirror of Elena's own: the same sharp jawline, the same wildfire curls, the same eyes that had once sparkled with mischief and love. Now, those eyes brimmed with sorrow, yet the warmth in them felt… rehearsed.
"You're dead," Elena whispered, her voice trembling. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her dagger, a grounding force against the storm of emotions threatening to unravel her.
The woman's lips curved into a gentle smile. "No, my love. I had to make you believe that." Her voice was honey-sweet, but beneath it lurked a dissonance Elena couldn't place—a note too sharp, too hollow.
Elena took an involuntary step forward, her boots crunching over loose gravel. Adrian's hand shot out, gripping her forearm. "Don't," he warned, his voice low. His gaze never left the figure ahead.
"How is this possible?" Elena demanded, ignoring the cold dread pooling in her stomach.
Asmara—*if that's even her name*, Elena thought bitterly—sighed, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of centuries pressed upon them. "Your father… he was being manipulated by the immortals. He believed he was protecting you by hiding the artifact, but he was only leading you into their grasp."
Adrian scoffed. "Convenient. You reappear just as we reach Excidium?" His tone was razor-edged, but his posture betrayed nothing.
Asmara turned to him, her smile faltering. "You don't trust me."
"Trust is earned," Adrian snapped, stepping forward. His eyes narrowed. "Prove you're her. Answer a question."
Elena's breath hitched.
"What was Elena's first pet's name?"
Silence.
Asmara's laugh was soft, almost musical. "Oh, Adrian. Still so suspicious." She tilted her head, her gaze softening as it landed on Elena. "It was a cat, wasn't it? A little gray thing with mismatched eyes."
Elena froze.
*No.*
Her chest tightened. She'd begged for a cat as a child, but her father had brought home a scrappy terrier with a torn ear—a stray he'd found near the palace gates. *Bracken*, she'd named him. Her mother had laughed as the puppy chewed her favorite slippers, scolding him with mock sternness.
"It was a dog," Elena said quietly.
Asmara blinked, then waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, my memory… It's been so long, sweetheart. You know how I was always forgetting things."
Elena's nails dug into her palms. Her mother had forgotten birthdays, anniversaries, even where she'd left her sword—but never Bracken. Never *her*.
"Let's keep moving," Asmara urged, gesturing toward the yawning stone doorway behind her. Its archway was etched with runes that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
Adrian leaned closer to Elena as they followed. "She's lying," he murmured. "Her shadow—look at it."
Elena glanced sidelong. The torchlight cast Asmara's shadow against the wall, but it didn't match her movements. It writhed, elongating into grotesque shapes, claws and tendrils flickering at its edges.
"I'm just tired," Elena muttered, though her magic prickled beneath her skin, restless and uneasy.
---
The tunnels twisted deeper, the air growing colder and thicker, as if the walls themselves were breathing. The stone underfoot shifted unnaturally, veins of obsidian snaking through the rock like parasitic roots. Elena's magic flared erratically, sparks dancing at her fingertips.
Asmara moved with unnatural grace, never stumbling, never hesitating. But Elena noticed the way she avoided touch—the fleeting recoil when Elena's hand brushed hers, the calculated distance she kept.
"Wait," Adrian called suddenly, crouching to scrape moss from the wall. Beneath it, a crude carving depicted a skeletal figure with hollow eyes, its name etched below: **Asmara**.
Elena's stomach lurched. "A coincidence," she said, too quickly.
Adrian shot her a look. "You don't believe that."
---
The bridge appeared without warning—a narrow spine of crumbling stone arcing over a chasm filled with swirling, ink-black mist. Asmara stepped onto it first, her steps light.
"Stay close," she said, her voice echoing oddly.
Halfway across, she stumbled.
"Elena!" she cried, arms flailing.
Instinct overrode doubt. Elena lunged, magic surging from her palms in a crackling burst of light. The energy wrapped around Asmara's waist, anchoring her—but the strain was immense. Elena's knees buckled as her magic drained, faster and deeper than it ever had.
"Let go," Adrian hissed, grabbing her shoulder. "It's a trap!"
But Asmara's grip tightened. For a heartbeat, her skin flickered—scales, claws, a flash of crimson eyes.
Then it vanished.
"I'm alright," Asmara breathed, steadying herself. Her hand brushed Elena's cheek, warm and tender. "Your father would be proud."
The words unraveled Elena's resolve. *How long had she ached to hear them?*
Adrian turned away, jaw clenched.
---
In the final chamber, a mirror-like relic dominated the space, its surface rippling like mercury.
"This reveals the heart's deepest truth," Asmara said. "Look into it, Elena. Alone."
Adrian crossed his arms. "By all means. Let's see what it shows."
Elena approached, her reflection warping in the glass. For a moment, she saw only herself—pale, determined, haunted.
Then her mother's face flickered into view… and *shifted*.
The eyes hollowed into voids, the smile stretching impossibly wide. A voice hissed, distant yet piercing: *"You belong to us."*
Elena staggered back, gasping.
"What did you see?" Asmara asked, too calmly.
"N-Nothing. Just myself."
Asmara's smile widened. "Good."
Adrian said nothing. But his gaze lingered on the relic, and the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.
As they retreated, the ground trembled. A low, guttural laugh echoed through the tunnels—a sound that didn't belong to any of them.
Elena's magic flared in response, a warning scream in her veins.
But she buried the fear, clinging to the lie.
*This is real. She's real.*
Even as the shadows behind Asmara coiled like serpents, ready to strike.